Changing Lanes
by car crash club
Summary: It's freshman year and Kristy and Stacey rule SHS. They have the look, the friends, and the personality. As they burn bridges and cut ties with old friends, they learn that some memories just can't be erased.
1. New Perspectives and the Baby Club

a/n: Hey, first fic on here. Standard disclaimer, I don't own the things you recognize. Some of the ages of people might be wrong...if they are, let me know _nicely_...? I haven't read the books in years, so this is all by memory. Happy reading!

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STACEY--

As soon as I got to high school, I knew what I had to do -- break off every tie with Claudia Kishi. It sounds harsh to admit it so openly, but it was the plan that had been formulating in my mind for weeks. Freshman year defines you and predicts who you will be for the next three years of your life. Sam Thomas, my on-again/off-again boyfriend had cemented that line of thinking into my mind.

The Baby-sitter's Club in general seemed to bring down even the strongest social image. They always said how sophisticated and popular I was, but when I stopped to think about it . . . no, I wasn't anything special. Cokie Mason was popular. Shawna Riverson? Popular. Grace Blume, even if only by default, was popular. In my mind, those three girls embodied everything I wanted to be. They were a little vindictive, a bit intimidating, and always looked fierce. The Baby Club (take that, Kristy, I renamed your "great idea") was more concerned with Jackie Rodowsky's unfortunate addiction to getting his hand stuck in various objects than paying attention to what they were wearing, or how their hair looked.

Well, Claudia cared about clothes and appearance. It was just that she felt the need to add her "artistic touch" to every potentially cute thing she owned. She had the most gorgeous silky black hair, but she could never just leave it at that. She had to put her homemade clay barrettes in it, or maybe even feathers -- or hey, why not try both at the same time? Her clothes often started off looking cute, but she formed them into these . . . interesting . . . ensembles that might look okay on, say, a five-year-old. But an almost-fourteen-year-old wearing a low cut orange plaid tank top with lime green jeans? I didn't buy it, and neither did most of the self-respecting graduated eighth graders of Stoneybrook Middle School.

I sound shallow, I admit, while talking about hair and clothing. And my "best friends". I could be a snob and say I can't help it, what with me growing up in New York City and all. Honestly, though, that's not it. I just want to fit in. Maybe I'm a follower, or maybe I'm just a cliche teenager. I remember when I first moved to Stoneybrook, back at the start of seventh grade, I admired Claud's quirky sense of style. Sometime between then and now I had changed. I couldn't exactly pinpoint the change, but I knew I wasn't the only one who felt it among our group.

Enter Kristy -- excuse me, Kristin -- Thomas.

Kristy "Tomboy" Thomas. The one girl I never expected to ever actually be friends with forever. Mary Anne Spier was an emotional wreck, yeah, but she was still better than Kristy. Abby Stevenson was the world's most masculine woman, but I figured that that might just be a stage. Even Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey would have been higher on my list, and they're two years younger than me. But Kristy? Bossy, loud, obnoxious Kristy? The girl with the Evil Looks if you arrived somewhere half a minute late?

She was slowly becoming my best friend.

I'm not sure when it happened. Actually, that's a lie. It happened after the Big Fight. Mary Anne and Kristy had been best friends ever since they could walk. They were almost obsessive, and it got even more annoying when they both got cell phones at the end of our SMS career. A month into our glorious summer vacation, I got a phone call from Kristy. This was weird for a number of reasons, but mainly this one -- Kristy and I had barely said two words to each other since the Baby Club died off. In fact, the only person Kristy really talked to from the club after we ended it was Mary Anne. I think she kind of blamed us for the Death of the Club, but Mary Anne somehow was saved from that blame.

When Kristy called me, she told me that she and Mary Anne had had a huge fight. Being familiar with the random "huge fights" that our group of friends always had, I didn't worry about it. But when Kristy started crying, I knew something was really wrong. I still didn't know everything that had happened. All I knew was that Mary Anne Spier wasn't as sweet and meek as everyone thought, and Kristy Thomas wasn't as lionhearted and brave as I had always assumed.

From what I could decipher, Mary Anne had stolen Kristy's then-boyfriend. They had never actually been serious, but the blow apparently was still there. The infamous Bart Taylor. He was the type of guy who considered baseball practice a good date. Please. Kristy was the type of girl who was turned on by baseball bats, though, so I guess that's why they "dated." Anyway, Kristy and Bart got a little more serious once we were done with middle school. Bart was going to go to Stoneybrook High with us (he previously went to a private school), and Kristy was excited to have her . . . "boyfriend" . . . at school with her. That is, until she found Mary Anne macking Bart at the park. Mary Anne Spier. Making out on a park bench with her best friend's guy.

I guess we all change.

Kristy came over to my house that night and we gossiped and goofed off. I gave her a makeover -- not the lame ones we used to do at BSC slumber parties. I made Kristy look drop-dead sexy. I hadn't realized how pretty her facial features were. She had the darkest brown eyes I had ever seen, even darker than Sam's. Better yet, she had gorgeous long lashes to compliment them. I was actually a little jealous of her eyes.

I told her about my plan to drop Claudia, and instead of reprimanding me . . . she told me that the two of us should stick together. I had smiled, nodded, and that was how Kristy and I became friends. Kristy decided that in order to become somebody completely new, she'd start going by Kristin. ("Kristy sounds so . . . dyke-y," she had told me, giggling.) She tried persuading me to go by Ana. I forcefully refused.

One week and we'd be in high school. Kristin, with her new look . . . and me, with a new best friend and a new perspective.


	2. Marriage and Making Out

a/n: same disclaimer! thanks for reviewing! that makes me happy. seriously, it was like AH A REVIEW:D

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KRISTY--

"Oh my freakin' God!" I exclaimed, shoving Stacey McGill playfully. "You were _making out_ with my _brother_! In our _living room_! Stacey, there are _small children_ in this house!"

Stacey laughed, tossing her wavy hair over a shoulder. She had dyed it a golden-brown color the week before school started, and it made her clear azure eyes pop out at you. "You are so immature, Ms. Thomas."

"Ms.?" I asked, pretending to be appalled. "Stacey, I'm very obviously married!"

"Oh, please, Kristin, tell me who the new flavor is," Stacey replied, giggling as she reapplied her smeared lipgloss.

"There's a new kid in my pottery class," I said, turning a little pink. I was still getting used to the whole 'talking about boys' thing. "He's from California--"

"Is he a Dawn Schafer?" Stacey interrupted, sneering slightly. Dawn Schafer had been in the Baby-sitter's Club with us, and she was . . . well, we always called her an "individual." Honestly, she was a little weird. She was obsessed with ghosts, tofu, and saving the planet, and she always wore baggy clothes that made her look like a homeless person.

"No!" I exclaimed, shoving Stacey again. "He's from San Francisco. Very chic," I added, knowing how much Stacey loved that word.

"Oooh," she murmured, examining herself in a compact mirror, "chic? _Muy bueno_, Kristin." She sat down on the front steps of my porch and patted the spot next to her, so I sat down beside her.

"I know, right?" I asked, grinning. I ran a hand through my shoulder-length hair, holding out the ends to check for split ends. "His name's . . . Erik. Or Evan. Or something with an 'e'."

"Edgar?" Stacey asked, stifling a giggle. "That's a hot name. That'd make him a _stud_."

I stared at Stacey for a moment, raising my eyebrows in my New and Improved Look of Death. (Okay, so I still had some childish tendencies. Sue me.) We both locked eyes for a few minutes, each of us too stubborn to look away. Finally, we both burst into laughter.

After regaining our composure, I said, "Really, though, Stace. Making out on the couch? Isn't that a little skanky?"

Stacey looked thoughtful, tilting her head slightly to the side. "I prefer the term . . . daring," she replied, making me giggle. We were silent for a moment, just relishing in the warmth of the evening. "I can't believe we're already two weeks into high school," Stacey whispered softly, as if speaking it too loud would make time suddenly fly even faster.

"I can't believe it either," I agreed. I sighed dramatically, leaning against the porch step. "It hasn't really sunk in yet, has it?"

"Not for me," Stacey replied. "It's weird to think how much has changed."

I waited a moment before replying, wanting to pick the right words. "I know what you mean," I started slowly. "Mary Anne's in three of my classes. Claud's in two of them. I see Abby a lot . . . but Abby's just . . ."

"Abby," Stacey replied with a smile. Abby Stevensen had been a BSC member for a while. She was the most energetic person I had ever met, which is incredible considering how energetic I am. "I heard she was picked to be on varsity for soccer. First freshman on varsity for eight years."

"I still kinda wished I would have tried out," I said, sounding a little sad. I had lost touch with my athletic side lately, what with all the paying attention to hair, make-up, clothes, boys . . . and the rest of the complicated things in Girl World. "You're going for cheerleading, right?"

"Most def," Stacey replied, grinning. She had gotten really into gymnastics over the summer, though I definitely didn't get why. It was way too hard to bend yourself in all of those positions, no matter how cool it made you. "Kris, why don't you try out for volleyball?"

I hadn't considered volleyball. Well, I guess that's because I had never played it before in my life. But it seemed fun, now that I thought about it. I faded into a daydream, where I was the star . . . center person (whatever the position is called) . . . on the SHS volleyball team, and I had just won the winning game.

There was a lot of cheering in my daydream.

I do love people cheering me on.

Snapping back into reality, I looked at Stace. "That's almost a good idea," I told her, shrugging a bit. I didn't want to seem too interested, especially because I wasn't sure if I'd even make the team.

"Kristy!" came a voice from inside. "Kristy, I need help!"

Sighing, I hopped to my feet. Stacey gave me a look that clearly said she was thankful that her parents weren't baby-loving freaks like mine. My family's complicated. My "real" dad is out of the picture, because he's an ass and no one likes him. The man I consider my real dad is Watson Brewer, who married my mom when I was in seventh grade. He has two kids; a nine-year-old daughter (Karen) and a six-year-old son (Andrew.) I have three full-blooded siblings; Charlie, who has left for college, Sam (my seventeen-year-old brother who enjoys making out on our living room couch with my best friend), and David Michael, who goes by Dave and is ten-years-old. We also have one adopted sibling. The lovely and beautiful Emily Michelle, who is four-years-old. To top it off, we're in the process of adopting a twelve-year-old girl who we have been fostering for a year and a half, whose name is Natalie. Watson's way rich -- well, I guess that means I am too, but that's a weird thought -- so we live in a gigantic mansion in the snobbier area of Stoneybrook.

When I was younger, I really loved having such a full house. Honestly, I guess I still do -- but sometimes I wonder what it's like to be an only child, like Stacey. Stacey just lived with her mom, and their house was always calm and peaceful.

"Kristy!" shrieked the voice, sounding irritated. "I need you now!"

Stacey's house was never a war zone like mine could be.

"Coming!" I called, reaching my hands out to Stacey to pull her up. "Let's go make peace!" I exclaimed to her, grabbing her hand and skipping up the stairs.

"You are such a freak," she said, but she looked like she was about to laugh. "Was that Karen yelling?"

"Most likely," I replied, rolling my eyes. I had ceased my skipping upon entering the house, and now was making my way toward the kitchen. "It usually is. The girl screams like a banshee."

"At least she doesn't use a whistle," Stacey giggled, causing me to blush. The whistle. The BSC. The Look. They were all things that made me feel kind of silly. I had been sort of a dictator during my middle school career. Stacey enjoyed bringing it up for a good laugh on her part.

When we got to the kitchen, I found Karen and one of her friends by the stove. "We're making cookies," she informed me, though it was pretty obvious. She had flour smeared across one cheek and cookie dough stuck on the tip of her nose. "Elizabeth said we had to have you in here before using the stove."

"Good thing," I replied, sitting down at the table. "You'd burn the whole house down."

"Then my mom would have to sue you," Stacey said sadly, "for burning her only child alive."

"Then our whole family would be in debt," I continued, shaking my head in shame.

"But it wouldn't matter," Karen replied, rolling her eyes. "Our whole family would be dead."

She had always been the one to pay attention to pointless details.

Stacey and I gossiped about school while Karen and her friend baked their cookies. Not much had happened so far, but we felt confident that we were going to make a statement this year. After all, Sam was a really popular senior. I was related to him, and Stacey was dating him -- or at least, Stacey was making out with him. Stacey was going to be a cheerleader, and I was running for student government, plus maybe volleyball. We had distanced ourselves from Claudia the Art Freak and Mary Anne, Professional Boyfriend Stealer (see, the immaturity just shines through sometimes, I really can't help it.) Our group of friends mainly consisted of Pete Black, Julie Stern, Emily Bernstein, and Rick Chow. They had all been semi-popular in middle school, which definitely supported my Get Popular or Die Trying plan. In the back of my mind, though, I felt like something was missing. It was that feeling you get when you leave the house in a rush and forget to brush your teeth or turn off your straightener. I had a feeling that this feeling was a little more profound than that, though.

Even as I was sitting there in my million dollar house gossiping with my best friend, I felt like I was missing a huge part of Kristin Amanda Thomas.


	3. Pink Hair and Bathroom Warnings

a/n: i still don't own these crazy kids, the town they come from, or anything else you recognize.

thanks a ton for all the reviews. it makes me happy to write more. and yes, i'm 16. :D

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MARY ANNE--

I was in with the wrong crowd.

I knew it. My old friends knew. My teachers knew it. I think my dad even knew it, not that he'd ever address it.

If you don't acknowledge the problem, it's not actually there. Right? Sure.

I was fifteen minutes late to my first period, history. Well, to be completely honest, I hadn't cared to get there on time. I hadn't even had any intention of showing up at all. Kristy Thomas, my bitch of an ex-best friend, was in that class and the teacher had sat us side by side.

Of course back in middle school when we actually _wanted _to sit by each other, the seating chart never turned out like that.

Making out with Bart Taylor at the SES park had only been the tip of the iceberg. I don't know if Kristy knew it, but Bart was into a lot of interesting things. Marijuana, for one thing. He wasn't a religious user or anything, but he usually had a small stash hidden somewhere. He had become a pretty heavy drinker almost as soon as high school started, probably because he partied almost every single night. Who the hell goes to a party on a school night? Who the hell even throws a party on a school night? Honestly, Bart was a bore. He was so . . . two-dimensional, so average.

Claudia Kishi, however, was anything but average.

Somehow, when the BSC broke up, we ended up together. Kristy went off with Stacey, and I was paired off with Claudia. In my humble opinion, I'm positive I got the better end of the deal. Claudia was a riot. Stacey was a superficial snobby bitch. Claudia always knew where the best parties were going to be. Stacey probably didn't even go to parties. She was probably too busy with her little cheerleader friends, having sleep overs and painting each others' nails. Oh, barf.

Claudia and I were having lots of fun first experience. My first time ever getting drunk off my ass? That was with Claudia two weeks ago at Trevor Sandbourne's house. My first experimental kiss with a girl? That was with Claudia at the same party after drinking way too much. My first time trying coke? Hello, Claudia.

The thing with Claudia was that she was always searching for things to inspire her art, whether it came in the form of drugs, alcohol, boys, or girls. That was the main thing I loved about her -- she had a goal in life. She wanted to be the next great artist. I was completely directionless. What was I supposed to be? Everyone in the BSC had had some type of talent. Stacey was gorgeous, sophisticated, and amazing at math. Kristy was a man-woman. (Okay, that's not fair. Kristy was a good athlete.) Abby had soccer. Dawn had her weird "save the planet" jazz. Mallory had writing, and Jessi had ballet. What did I have? A strict father, impressive handwriting, and my "sensitivity." That should take me far. The other thing I admired about Claud was that she was never reliant on anything. She didn't need drugs, alcohol, her family, her friends -- she was a free bird.

"Why are you late, Ms. Spier?" asked Mr. Carlson as I stepped into my class.

"I was saving the world," I replied, shrugging. A few kids snickered, though I wasn't sure if it was because what I said was funny, or they thought I was funny looking.

Damn my self-confidence.

"Interesting," Mr. Carlson said, looking at me with an analytical eye. "Unfortunately, world saving does not give you a free ride to my class, therefore, you're going to have to sign our handy dandy tardy sheet."

At least I'd get some use out of my impressive handwriting . . .

"Nice hair," Kristy murmured as I took my seat beside her. "You don't look like a freak at all."

"Excuse me for not wanting to be a clone," I retorted, glaring at her. Claudia and I had dyed my hair the night before out of boredom. I had a layered shoulder-length cut, with the tips now colored a bright pink. Claud had wanted to color all of my hair pink, but I wasn't quite that daring . . . well, not yet.

"And your clothes are so classy," Kristy continued whispering, an annoying smirk on her face.

I was wearing a short black skirt and a low cut tank. It wasn't _extremely _low cut. I could have picked out five girls in the class we were in who had lower cut shirts than I did. "You're a jerk," I told her, feeling the familiar sensation of tears budding in my eyes.

Oh God. Not right now. I wanted to bury weepy Mary Anne along with my friendship with Kristy and my old morals.

"Well, you're a bitch," Kristy replied, still smirking. She didn't care if she hurt me. She wanted to. That was how Kristy always worked. She got some kind of sick, twisted pleasure out of watching others squirm below her. That's how I had ended up making out with Bart. I had met him in the park as I was walking home from the store. I saw him sitting on the bench, looking slightly dazed.

_"Kristy broke up with me," he told me softly, even though I didn't know him very well._

_Being the great listener that I was, I had sat down and asked him what happened. _

_"She said I wouldn't be good for her reputation," he replied, looking genuinely confused. "She flat-out told me that. Who the hell says things like that? She could have just said she didn't like me anymore."_

_"Kristy can be kind of . . . mean," I told him, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Kristy cares about Kristy and that's it."_

Bart and I talked for almost an hour, and then he went to kiss me. I kissed back, sue me! It became one of those annoying public displays of affections pretty quickly, but we both felt so bonded over the realization that Kristy was a bitch, we didn't care.

Of course, Kristy never told anyone that part of the story. I had tried telling other people, but nobody would listen. It's insane how fast Kristy can spread news, even during summer when everyone's on vacation.

Therefore, I became the skank of an ex-best friend, and Kristy became the golden girl.

"That's all you are, Mary Anne," Kristy went on, her whispering fervent and distressed. "A total bitch."

I went to reply, but the burning in my eyes told me that if I said anything, the floodgates would open.

"Do you ladies have something to share with the class?" Mr. Carlson asked suddenly, looking over in our direction irritably.

"I don't," Kristy replied sweetly, smiling like the amazing, wonderful person she was.

"Mary Anne?" Mr. Carlson asked, probably figuring that I was causing the problem. Kristy Thomas was perfect, and I was just little meek Mary Anne Spier.

"N-nothing," I squeaked, my voice cracking. Then without warning, I did what I do best -- I burst into tears. Everyone turned to look at me, fighting urges to laugh. Mr. Carlson looked very alarmed, apparently unsure of what to do.

I couldn't take all of the staring. I jumped out of my seat and darted to the door. I ran all the way to the nearest bathroom, then pulled out my phone. I found Claudia on my contacts list, and sent her a text asking her to try to get out of class.

I sat in a stall while I waited for Claudia, staring at the graffiti on the back of the door. Smiling darkly, I decided I would write something about Kristy. Petty, yes, but it's not like I had the bravery to confront her. However, once I put my pen against the door, I couldn't decide what to put. Everything seemed too mean, even if it was true. After staring at the tip of my pen for a few minutes, I wrote this:

"Be careful of the friends you choose -- even great ideas can lead to bad outcomes."


	4. Soccer and Annoying Boys

a/n: I still don't own the things you recognize. Ya know, I never really realized that I don't fall into the generation who read the BSC books! I'm glad I can bring some youngness to the forum ;D A big thanks to all of you who have been reviewing!

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ABBY--

"Hey, ball!" I screamed with as much breath as I could. "Ball, ball, ball, ball! Downline!"

Kali Newport heard my shouting and sent the ball flying my way. It was too bumpy of a pass, but I managed to calm it down and gain control of it. Just as I was approaching the goal, our coach yelled to stop.

"Barlowe!" I whined, as Gary Barlowe -- our soccer coach -- came walking up to me. "That was going to be my all-star goal."

"We're already half an hour over practice," Barlowe replied, shoving me playfully. "We've got to pack up and leave."

"Yeah, Abs," Kali said, walking over to me. "I'm tired. We've been playing for, like, three hours."

"You pansy," I teased, grinning as Kali's face took on a mock look of anger.

Soccer had become my entire life. Not only was I playing varsity soccer for SHS, I was also on an elite team in Stamford called the Warriors. Though the Warriors were on their off-season, Barlowe had agreed to coach a few of us a couple times a week just so we stayed on top of our game. It was me, Kali, Roxy Braize, Lola Martinez, and Elle Green. They were all juniors at a school in Stamford.

"Abby, you have a ride home, right?" Barlowe asked as we all took off our soccer gear.

"Yeah," I replied, but it was a lie. My mother was a complete workaholic and barely ever came home. She had an office in Manhattan and slept there most of the time. My father had died in a car crash when I was younger. I didn't have any siblings other than Anna, my twin sister, and neither of us could drive. I usually caught a bus to Stamford for these practices, and then caught a bus home. The ride took about a half hour each way, but it was better than not getting to play on this team.

"All right," Barlowe said, looking over each of us. "Great practice, girls. I've gotta go, so I'll see you guys . . . on Wednesday."

"Speaking of leaving," Elle began, "I have to get going. Kali, if you're getting a ride with me, you better hurry. I'm leaving right now."

One by one, everyone left. Roxy was the last one with me. She reminded me a lot of Mary Anne Spier. She was incredibly sensitive and always hated leaving me alone. After waiting with me for fifteen minutes, she apologized and said she absolutely had to go. Once her car was gone, I grabbed my backpack and started walking towards the bus station. I had English and Chemistry text books in my backpack, so I didn't walk quite as fast as I had hoped. It was only Monday and I had homework in every single class.

Sometimes I wish I didn't have so much going on. Every day, I got out of school at two-thirty, practiced with the school team until four, walked as fast as I could to a bus station so I could catch the four thirty bus to Stamford, practiced with the Warriors until at least seven, did homework on the seven-thirty bus, got back to Stoneybrook and walked the fifteen minute walk to my house, then crashed. I never had time to just take a breath and relax, or even to go hang out with friends -- well, if I had any friends.

When the BSC split up, I kind of got the worst of it. When I moved to Stoneybrook, I hadn't really bothered to make any friends other than the BSC girls. I didn't need to, especially since we were all going to be "friends forever" and all that jazz. But when forever came and went, I was forced to choose between three groups -- the obnoxiously popular Stacey-Kristy group, the preppy Stoneybrook Day group that my dear sister Anna was in, or the artsy, inspired, party group of Caludia -- excuse me, _Claudia _and Mary Anne. I chose the loner group. Population? Me.

Which led me to obsessing over soccer, which initially led to me standing at the Stamford bus station only to find out that I had missed the seven-thirty bus which just so happens to be the last one of the night. Damn. Even though my entire body was aching from all of the practicing I do, I had no choice but to start walking home. It was about a twenty mile walk, but I figured a little hitchhiking would force somebody into taking pity on me.

I know, I know. Hitchhiking is dangerous, bad, stupid, whatever. But my legs felt like they might detach themselves from my body if I had to walk very far and there was a creepy looking man lying on the bus station bench watching me curiously. No way in hell was I going to hang around and party with him.

It was just getting dark as I headed down a back road that led to Stoneybrook. I looked pretty disgusting. My massive, curly brown hair was a complete beast since I had sweat a lot. It was a frizzy disaster zone. I was still wearing my soccer outfit, black shorts and a light blue tank top. I smelled like a dead animal, and I was walking hunched over because of the weight of my backpack.

"Kill me now," I groaned to myself with a sigh.

After about ten minutes of walking, I heard a car coming up behind me. I took a deep breath and hoped they'd stop for me. I even stuck out my thumb for good measure. It was pretty dark by then, but I could make out three people in the car. It slowed down as it came upon me, then pulled over beside me.

The window rolled down partially and a husky voice said, "Do you know what they do to little girls who hitchhike?"

My first instinct was to run, but before my feet could respond to my screaming brain, a hand reached out of the car and grabbed my wrist roughly. I screamed and could feel tears starting to burn in my eyes. What could I do? How could I get away? This guy was going to do something to me and I couldn't do anything about it--

Suddenly, the passenger door opened and I heard a burst of laughter. The guy was still holding my wrist tightly, but a new person put their arm around me. "Abby, calm down!" exclaimed a female voice. Not just any female voice, though. It definitely belonged to Kristin Amanda Thomas. "Sam, let go of her."

Slowly, I began putting things together. I wasn't about to be kidnapped. I wasn't in any danger. Hell, I wouldn't even have to walk all the way home now. That didn't stop me from being pissed.

"Do you have any idea how freaked out I was?!" I shouted, jerking away from Kristin. "Oh my God, I saw my entire life flash before my eyes!"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't be_ hitchhiking _down dark roads at night," Kristin retorted, still looking very humored.

"It was either that or sleep at the bus station," I mumbled, folding my arms across my chest defiantly.

"Oh God, just man up and get in the car," Kristin said with a roll of her eyes. Inside the car, I could hear another girl laughing breathlessly.

Sam rolled the window down all the way and stuck his head out. "Come on, Abby, baby, maybe we can drop these kids off at the house and have a little fun of our own," he said with a provocative grin.

"Go to hell, Sam Thomas," I replied, switching my glare to him. "Is Stacey pregnant yet?"

"No, Stacey is _not _pregnant yet," came a female voice from the front seat. Oh, duh. Of course it was Stacey. Kristin and Stacey were always together. "But if I ever do have a little Thomas baby, I promise I will name it after you, my lady."

"Even if it's a dude?" I asked, finally lightening up a little.

"Even then," Stacey replied with a smirk. "Now get in the car so we can go home."

Kristin and I both got into the back-seat. I practically melted against the car's interior, relishing in the pleasure of actually getting to sit down.

"You smell revolting," Sam commented from the driver's seat. "But it's a lot better than that old perfume you used to use."

"Ha ha," I replied dryly. I was not thrilled to be in a car with Sam. Nobody knew about the history I had with him. Nobody would have _believed _me if I had tried to tell them. Sometimes I didn't even believe it. After we graduated eighth grade, the entire BSC went over to Kristin's mansion (because _oh my gosh_, her step-dad is a _millionaire _. . . yeah, well so is my mom but nobody ever marveled about our mansion . . .) to party. It was a lame party, but we were all so excited about getting out of our endless middle school years, we didn't care. Kristy was being a bitch and kept laughing at Mary Anne for crying. Claudia and Stacey were being kind of standoffish of each other, though I wasn't sure why. Mallory and Jessi just seemed to be out of place, since they were younger than all of us.

Meanwhile, I had gone upstairs to use the bathroom. As I walked by Sam's room, I tripped . . . I was kind of a clutz sometimes, plus Andrew had left some toy in the middle of the hall. I guess Sam heard my pathetic fall, so he came out to see if I was alright. He pulled me up from the ground and I realized in horror that the dress I had been wearing (my mom forced me into it because I apparently I was supposed to look nice . . .) had gotten messed up and was rolled up to expose my pink underwear. I remember how I awkwardly pulled my dress down, trying not to blush too feverishly, but it was hard. Sam _was _cute. After a moment, we both burst into laughter.

Then he had kissed me. Sam Thomas had kissed me. Awkward-looking, allergic-to-life, bad-pun-enthusiast Abby Stevenson. He told me I was cute when I was blushing. No guy had ever referred to me as cute. I hung out with him in his room for most of the party, talking and kissing. My friends were all so caught up in their own drama, nobody really seemed to notice. I had never fit in with them that much anyway. But when Sam and I went downstairs to join everyone, he acted like nothing had happened. When I confronted him after the party about what we were going to do, he said that it was just an impulse thing and that I should just forget about it.

And so, I tried my best to ignore him as we drove home. He kept making comments to me, as if he was intent on tormenting me. He kept flirting with Stacey, causing Kristin to threaten to throw up twenty-seven times. I tried to focus on talking to Kristin, since she was interested in hearing about my soccer team. I was surprised Kristin and Stacey didn't notice the tension between me and Sam; it was practically suffocating me.

Stacey was dropped off first since she lived on the other side of Stoneybrook than us. The Thomas family and I lived in the "rich" part of town. As we pulled up in front of the Thomas-Brewer mansion, Sam offered to walk me home.

"I'll be fine," I replied, rolling my eyes as I got out of the car.

"Seriously, Sam, she lives two houses away," Kristin said with a yawn. "I'm gonna go inside. See ya tomorrow, Abby."

"Bye," I said, then turned to start walking to my house. Sam grabbed my arm, pulling me so that I was facing him. "No," I said simply, glaring at him.

"I didn't even say anything," he replied with a lopsided smile. "I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings, Abby. I really do like you. It just can't happen."

"Because I'm not cool enough to be seen with you?" I asked. He cringed at my words, but we both knew that they were true. "Yeah, good-bye." And just as I was about to leave, he pulled me closer and kissed me. "Are you really that attracted to frizzy haired beasts who smell like rotton eggs?"

"As long as the beast is named Abby, then yes I am," Sam replied and despite myself, I smiled.


	5. Shades of Blue and Big Sisters

a/n: I've been sick the past three days, so I actually should have written more than just one chapter. But hey, what can I say? I've recently realized what a closet BSC geek I am. I was at a debate trip over the past weekend and saw a girl with a hoodie that said SHS. My friend asked which school that was, and I actually said Stoneybrook High School. Because that's logical. Haha.

Standard disclaimer. Gracias to all the reviews.

* * *

CLAUDIA--

Sky blue. Powder blue. Azure blue. Cornflower blue. Bright blue. Dark blue. Light blue. Medium blue.

Not gonna lie, sometimes colors drive me up the wall! I was trying to create the perfect atmosphere for this painting. It was very abstract. I was trying to paint my feelings about school. It sounds like an easy, boring topic for an abstract, but for some reason it was giving me a ton of trouble. It was really opening my eyes to exactly how much I hate school. The majority of the painting was made up of purples and oranges -- not exactly the most compatible color combo, but I felt like it showed how much I didn't belong in school.

I took a swig of a wine cooler I had stolen from the fridge. My parents didn't drink a lot, but lately my mom had been on a wine cooler kick. Not exactly my drink of choice, but it was better than nothing. I enjoy alcohol. I guess that's not something a fourteen-year-old should openly admit, but hey, truth is truth. I'm not out of control. I usually don't drink unless I'm at a party. I'm only a social drug user.

But sometimes I need inspiration, and lately inspiration comes in the form of illegal substances and stolen liquor.

I was so lost in my world of colors, I nearly jumped out of my skin when my cell phone vibrated against my leg. Once I recovered from that near death experience, I realized it was Mary Anne calling and gave a sigh of relief.

"Oh my Lord, MA, I was lost in Artist World," I breathed into the phone. I put my paintbrush behind my ear and let myself collapse on my bed.

Mary Anne laughed. "Didn't mean to scare you, Claud. But I have gigantic news."

I propped my head up with a pillow, forgetting about my paintbrush. "Yeah? What goes?"

Mary Anne waited for a second, presumably for dramatic effect. "Dawn's coming home!"

"WHAT?" I exclaimed, my eyes practically bugging out of my head. "She hasn't even been out there for a full year!"

"I know!" Mary Anne cried, giggling. "Can you believe it? I can't!"

"Ahhhhhh!" I shouted, rolling onto my stomach. "Dawnie's coming ho-ome!"

Janine chose this moment to barge into my room without knocking. "You sound like a dying cow," she remarked, leaning against my door frame. "And you might want to get rid of all those bottles." She pointed to my pile of light liquor bottles, raising an eyebrow. A few months ago, she would have freaked out on me. She also would have given me some kind of lecture about the chemical make-up of alcohol or something. But ever since Janine met this guy, Kevin, she's been a lot more fun. Oh, the power of boys.

"Noted," I told Janine, smiling sheepishly. "Hold on, MA." I set my phone down, then sat up to look at Janine. "Dawn's coming home!" I told her, clapping my hands a little.

"You guys really bonded when she was out here over summer break, didn't you?" she remarked, though I could see suspicion in her eyes.

She had a right to be suspicious. Dawn, Mary Anne, and I had had a wild summer. A lot of partying, a lot of lying to parents, a lot of boys, and a lot of drinking. Well, Dawn didn't drink a lot. She's still very health-concious and is always worrying about what she puts into her body. Despite her sometimes judgmental attitude, it was a blast, and I couldn't wait to have Dawn back full time. In our BSC times, I had never really been close to Dawn. But she seemed to have mellowed out a bit after moving back to Cali.

"Indeed we did!" I said in a singsong voice.

"You have blue paint in your hair," Janine told me, hiding a smile. "And on your cheek. And on your pillow."

"Killjoy," I said, tossing the pillow at her. She opened her mouth in mock shock, then shook her head and turned to leave. "Shut my door!" I called to her, and she obliged.

"Hey, MA, I'm back," I said as I picked up my phone. "But wow, why did she decide to come back?"

"Sunny -- remember her friend? -- has been kinda reckless, I guess," Mary Anne replied, sounding as if she didn't know all of the details. "I guess she and Dawn were out driving--"

"Sunny's our age, isn't she?"

"I didn't say they were _legally _driving," Mary Anne went on. "But anyway, apparently Sunny was _very _drunk. Dawn was a little tipsy, but she doesn't know how to drive, so Sunny drove. They were at some party, but there were kids snorting coke, and Dawn's not into drugs."

"Which I find odd," I remarked for no particular reason. "She can be so square."

Mary Anne laughed. "Yeah, seriously. But anyway, I guess Dawn demanded that they leave. She and Sunny had gone to the party with one of Sunny's many older boyfriends, but the guy refused to leave. So Sunny basically stole his keys and car, and she and Dawn left."

"Shit," I said, because really, what else _could _I say? Even I wouldn't have done something that crazy.

"Annnnnnnnyway, Dawn has no clue how to drive, so even though it was against her better judgment, she let Sunny drive. Dawn says the party was only a five minute drive from Ducky's house, and that they would just crash there. Long story short? They crashed into a tree--"

I burst into laughter. "That's horrible luck!"

"I know, right?" Mary Anne replied, sighing. "So Dawn called Ducky, which they obviously should have done in the first place -- Ducky's a doll and totally would have picked them up."

"We need a cool gay guy friend," I commented, sprawling back across my bed.

"Claud, we don't know if he's _gay_," Mary Anne said, and I could almost see her blushing at the word 'gay.' She's come a long way from mousy Ms. Spier, but she's still not exactly hip. "But back to the story. They left the car, went home with Ducky, and kinda pretended nothing happened. However, Sunny's little boyfriend called the police, who called her parents, who called Dawn's dad . . . and well, things kind of unraveled. I don't think Mr. Schafer got the entire story, but he knows that Dawn was in a car with Sunny."

"No mention of the drinking, though?" I asked. "Or the partying? Or the drunk driving?"

"I don't think so," Mary Anne replied. "I think Dawn would be in a lot more trouble if any of that stuff surfaced. But her dad gave her a few choices. Boarding school or Stoneybrook."

"Ouch."

"I know. It's kinda sad because can you imagine what Sunny's gonna be up to without Dawn to hold her back?" Classic Mary Anne, worrying about things no one else would even think of.

"Look on the bright side!" I exclaimed, grinning despite myself. "We get Dawnie!"

"Sharon's very angry with her, though," Mary Anne said. "Dawn's not going to have a lot of fun for quite a while."

"Oh, quit worrying," I told her, feeling a little annoyed. I love Mary Anne, but sometimes she makes me want to scream. I take life as it comes. Mary Anne stresses about things. We're opposites. Completely.

We chatted for a few more minutes, then I told her that I had to go work on my abstract. My paintbrush had fallen out from behind my ear, and I found it under my bed. Just as I was about to pick it up, Janine came back into my room.

"So what unfortunate situation is bringing Dawn back to Stoneybrook?" she asked curiously, sitting at the foot of my bed.

"She and her friend drove into a tree," I told her. I could tell she was thinking that that wasn't really bad enough to be sent to another coast, so I said, "They were drunk."

"Oh?" Janine said softly, tilting her head in thought. "That's a very dangerous thing to do."

"Nah, they're both fine and nobody was hurt," I replied, though I suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"Just because nobody was hurt doesn't change the fact that what they did was very reckless and irresponsible."

I channeled as much Kristy-rage as possible and gave Janine my most annoyed Look. "Thanks for the lecture, _Mom_."

"I'm your big sister," Janine said after a moment, seeming a bit unsure of herself. "I don't want you to do stupid things like that." I continued glaring at her, adding in an irritated eye roll. Janine sighed, getting up from my bed. "I have a date with Kevin. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I replied, grabbing my paintbrush and fiddling with it between my thumb and index finger. "Have fun."

I decided to forget about Janine's lecturing and Mary Anne's worrying and Dawn's apparent recklessness. Instead, I wanted to put all of my attention back into my painting.

Cerulean. Yale blue. Midnight blue. Denim. Egyptian blue. Steel blue.

Oh, the woes of being an artist.


End file.
